


The Lamb Becomes the Wolf

by tehhumi



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Luthien defeats Morgoth, quest for the silmaril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26209087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehhumi/pseuds/tehhumi
Summary: Luthien throws down Morgoth and becomes Queen of the North, with Beren at her side.
Relationships: Beren Erchamion/Lúthien Tinúviel
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	The Lamb Becomes the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [funkytoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkytoes/gifts).



> This piece was written for Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020. It was inspired by [the gorgeous art,](https://essenceofarda.tumblr.com/post/628504205475414016/finally-get-to-reveal-my-part-of-my-collaboration) created by EssenceofArda on tumblr.

Morgoth fell into a slumber, at last. Though his head nodded forward, he crown did not fall. Luthien raised Angrist to cut off a Silmaril from the crown, but then paused. It was possible that this would wake Morgoth, and she and Beren would have to run; it would be ill done to complete the goal only for Beren to die because he was not roused in time. But Beren was under the throne, and she did not know if he could spare the precious minute to wake him.

Morgoth could not pursue them in revenge if he never woke at all.

Luthien lowered the knife, though not all the way to her sde. Merely to the Dark Vala's neck. 

And with a single slice of Angrist, she chopped off his head, the enchanted blade sliding through muscle and bone as easily as water.

Mogtoh's eyes flew open, but with no lungs he couldn't scream. The ground shuddered, causing Beren, and all the orcs, to wake.

Beren blinked confusion from his eyes to see Luthien clutching a knife above Morgoth's headless body. He rose, and doing so the skin of Drauglin fell to the floor. Most of the orcs fled the room.

"What did you do?"

"We can have all three Silmarils far easier without Morgoth to stand in our way."

"You killed the Dark Vala himself?!"

Luthien looked down at the head. "No, I don't think so. But he can do us little harm as he is."

Some of the braver orcs attempted to attack, either in revenge for Morgoth or hoping to curry his favor. But Beren had fought orcs for many years, and they died quickly.

"We should go then, to tell your father his test is complete."

"It is not yet complete, I must remove the crown. Hold the head still."

The crown of Iron on Mogoth's head was half buried in his flesh; the light from the Silmarils so close constantly burning him and his own dark power in the iron healing around it. Luthien considered cutting through the crown itself, but it was well made and she had no desire to ruin it. It took several minutes, during which Morgoth's head made agonized faces, but in the end it was yanked free.

Luthien considered her prize. "They are very beautiful, are they not?" she mused.

"Yes, but not as beautiful as you are my love," Beren replied.

"So the union will be more beautiful yet."

"You wish to wear it? After seeing what it did to a Vala?"

"Morgoth is marred while the Silmarils are blessed, of course it burned him," Luthien dismissed Beren's concerns. "I am the daughter of Melian, who rules the last bastion of light on this side of the sea. Varda will not harm me." And so saying she placed the crown on her head.

The Silmarils did not burn her; the iron crown did. But she was an enchantress, and wove her own spells to bind the crown. She had little to work with, so far from anything green or growing. But she persevered. She had her self, including the hair from which she had fashioned a cloak of shadows

This time she fashioned her hair into a net, winding around Morgoths's crown like vines around a tree, strangling it. When she was done her shorn hair was gone completely, latticed into the inside of the crown to remove the taint left by the Dark Vala’s skin. The crown was hers, and the Silmarils as well.

"Luthien?' Beren asked after a moment.

"I am well. Come, we must look around Morgoth's former stronghold, and see what should be kept and what must be razed."

"We are not strong enough to destroy it; if we had been there would be no need for subterfuge."

"We _were_ not strong enough, with Morgoth defending it and only our own strength. But Morgoth is defeated and I can use the Silmarils in a way a creature of darkness such as he never could."

"So then we must destroy it and free the prisoners, as you did at Tol in Gaurhoth."

"We could, but I have been thinking as we travel. My father will never love you."

"He gave his word that we could wed if I brought him a Silmaril!"

"And his word he will keep, but no more. He can never accept a mortal as equal to even the lowliest of his subjects, nor will most of Doriath."

"I could bear the scorn of all Beleriand if it would let me stay with you."

"As would I in return, but there's no reason for us to. We have just overthrown a king; there is a kingdom ready for a ruler."

"You cannot mean to replace Morgoth as ruler of Angband!"

"Not of the Iron Hell, but of the North Garden. A kingdom as vibrant as the glade we met, where all are free to marry as they wish regardless of their kin, peopled by Man and Elf alike, stretching from Helcaraxe to Dorthonion and the Blue Mountains."

"And what regard would a powerful queen have for a lowly man?"

"You are my love, and would be my husband and helpmeet in this if you will."

"I do will it."

"Then come! There is much to be done. I shall free the thralls of Morgoth and offer them places as our subjects. Then we shall climb to the highest peak and see the borders of our kingdom with our own eyes."

Luthien walked through the halls of Angband. Great roots sprung up behind her, and flowering vines in the light of her Silmarils. Iron bars were twisted apart by branches, and the niphredil sprouted in her footprints. All the while she held Mrogth's head as a grim trophy. Drops of blood still dripped from his neck, and where they fell nothing would grow. The shoots and leaves o the flowers next to it would crowd in, as if to hide the imperfection in their mistress's power. Great trees grew in the deepest caves of Angband, reaching out for the sun but not needing it, even as the forest had grown in the starlight of Luthien's youth.

At every gate and corner, Luthien called out "I have defeated the Dark Power! Let all rise and see the light once more!" 

And everywhere, the orcs fled. The thralls and captives cowered at first, but some of them slowly allowed themselves to hope once more. They nearly had forgotten the sight of growing things, after years or centuries mining the bowels of the earth. Now there was green. Gaping chasms were crossed by vines and roots, creating bridges wide enough to cross hand in hand.

Eventually, one elf dared to approach the one at the center of all this growth.

"My lady?" Carandoron asked.

"Yes?' Luthien replied.

"Who are you, and what is going on?"

"I am Luthien Tinuviel, daughter of King Elu of the Sindar and Melian, maia of Yavanna. I have defeated Morgoth, and claimed his crown for my own."

"None will begrudge you such,"Carandoron agreed. "But what shall become of Morgoth's lands and subjects?"

"The orcs and Umaiar flee before my might, and those who do not shall die. Elves and Men may leave or to stay as they wish."

"Your pardon my lady, but I expect most will wish to go. Some have families they have not seen in many years, and all our memories of this place are evil."

"This place does indeed have a foul taint," Luthien nodded. "My kingdom of Forsant shall be on the surface where the Sun and Moon can bleach out the darkness, and in halls I dig anew, where the miasma has never reached. But if people wish to return to the dubious welcome of their kindred, I shall not sop them."

"Why would our families not rejoice at our return?"

Beren spoke up, "While Angband stood, every so often an elf or man would come out and say they'd escaped. If they were welcomed back, all would be well for a day or a month. Then they would go mad and slit the throats of all those who trusted them, leaving a village decimated by betrayal from within. My kin stopped trusting those who came from the North claiming to be free before my grandfather was born. Former thralls are given food and may speak to those of their kin who will bear them, but they may not stay the night in our towns."

"Is there no hope then?" Carandoron cried? "Are we to be free only to die in the wilderness?"

"Perhaps not," Luthien soothed. "I cast down the Isle of Werewolves weeks ago, and the captives there have been welcomed by their kin in Nargothrond. But for those whose homelands will not take them, or whose homes were destroyed in Morgoth’s fire, I offer a place in my realm."

Carandoron nodded. "May we have some time to decide? Many of us do not now remember how to live outside, and some never have at all, for their parents met in this cursed place."

"Of course! I am not my father or my mother, to set a fence around this place. These lands will be open to all elves and men who wish no harm to the ones within."

"With you leave then lady, I shall go and spread the good news."

"Certainly, though I had thought my works would be token enough of my intentions"

Luthien went on throughout the fortress. At last she came to the great gate, and there she and Beren paused. There was a sort of shelf next to the gate, where a lantern could be set to see those who wished to come in without spilling any light into the fortress of utter darkness. Here she placed Morgoth's head, letting him look out at her renewal of his desolate land.

They walked on, to where Caracroth still slept, and she whispered to him that the time had not come yet for him to wake, and would indeed never come. A dogwood tree grew in front of his face, and dropped its leaves over him in a blanket. It's bark fell down near his feet, and he wore his claws to smoothness.

"You aren't killing him?" Beren asked.

"It is not this creature's fault that he was made to be evil."

"No, but it has been made that way and cannot turn aside."

"Not yet. But in time I may understand how, or my mother may. He will not trouble us in the meantime."

"If you say so."

"I do."

She turned and began to climb the mountain. It was at first nothing but barren scree, but shoots sprouted up and sent out runners to stabilize the ground. The sharp stones battered at Beren's boots, but Luthien’s bare feet remained untouched. After he stumbled, Luthien turned and asked"Are you hurt?'

"No, merely this ground is uneven.”

Luthien frowned. "The Silmarils recognize me as their wielder and the one who liberated them from Morgoth; they will make a smooth path for me. You they do not know, but I can fix that."

"How? Beren asked.

Luthien bit the tip of her tongue with newly sharp teeth so that a drop of blood welled there. Then she leaned down and kissed Beren deeply, as they had in the woods when they first met.  
Beren felt a thrum of power run through him as if his very bones were singing.  
Luthien said, "Now the two may become one flesh. Our bodies are one, and the magic will love you even as I do."

Later they were reclining in a grove that had sprouted from the peak of Thangorodrim at a wave of Luthien's hand.

"This was a good day. May all our other days be so."

"Indeed. Though there is one matter that continues to weigh on me," Beren siad.

"What is it?"

"I swore to your father that he would see me holding a Silmaril from the Iron Crown before we two would wed."

"That is so."

"So I would send him one, and leave you with two to magnify your splendor and power."

"No. For four hundred yeard this land has languished under Morgoth’s control. Two Silmarils will not be enough to renew this desolate place."

"It would be ill done to start your reign with a broken oath."

"It would be worse done to end my reign with my people starving and overrun by orcs."

"I do not wish to come between you and your father."

"It would be his own pride making the division, not your actions."

“Perhaps, but how can I fault such pride? He knows you are precious beyond replacement, and will not see you wed to a lesser creature.”

“Whether holding a Silmaril or mute in the woods, you are no less than I. If my father cannot see the truth of you without a shining stone, that is not your fault or mine.”

“My honor is the same, whether my word is given to the wise or the foolish.”

“I do not wish you to fail in your duty, but neither can I give up my duty to the people of Forsant, however recently I have taken it up.”

“I see no smooth path,” Beren admitted, “but we have solved far trickier puzzles than this between us. Perhaps some rest will make our thoughts clearer; it has been a very surprising day.”

“Indeed it has.”

* * *

Luthien and Beren's wedding was a beautiful event, if oddly attended. The subjects of the new kingdom of Forsant were all present, clothed in whatever they had been able to weave or barter in the last month since they gained their freedom. Prince Lorweg of the Nandor was there, with his attendants, dressed in green such that he could hardly be seen among Luthien's forest. 

Emeldir and Barahir had sadly passed away years ago, and Melian would not leave Doriath even in time of peace. She had put too much of herself into the land, it would hurt to try to grasp both Forsant and Doriath at once. (Luthien understood more now than she had as a child about how that felt, with her own kingdom. And she was a little bit glad not to have another Maia in her Domain, even though Melian would never make any changes without Luthien's approval.)

Thingol attended though. He was dressed in a grey so pale it shone, with the Two Trees embroidered on his robe, with his crown on his head and jeweled rings on his fingers. Even with Oropher and Galadriel accompanying him to their kinsowman's wedding, he stood out by far as the most ornately dressed person in attendance.

Save of course the bride. Luthien was resplendent. She could not weave her her into a cloak of course, with it melted away by Morogth’s crown. So instead she had woven a dress of spider-silk and vines, a dappling of silver and grey that looked like starlight through the treetops. The spiders Beren had killed as a wedding gift to her, and the the tendrils had grown at her command to interlace with the threads. No gems adorned her wrists, but living niphredil formed bracelets and rings of silver.

Beren was dressed in the custom of Men of the house of Beor at their wedding, not that he expected any of the guests to appreciate it. He wore a simple undyed tunic and breeches, his brown hair was loose across his shoulders.. A wife had her dowry, but a husband was expected to bring only his self to the marriage rather than possessions. anything the couple would need he could build himself. (In practice, a house was often built by the whole community if there was none empty when a couple wished to marry. But the woman brought abundance and comfort, and the man brought scarcity so that he would always strive for more.)

The ceremony was an invention of the Beren and Luthien’s own. They had no king or holy man to bless their union, for Beren and Luthien would have married just as truly by themselves under the stars, or in the blackest pit of the earth. Likewise they were not handed off by their parents, as the two of them had come to this moment as much despite their past as because of it.

Beren professed his love for Luthien. 

Luthien echoed him, and promised to stay by his side until the end of his days. 

Beren echoed her, and promised to be her help in all her paths. 

Luthien echoed him, and promised to love their children and guide them on their way. 

Beren echoed her, and promised her welcome in his kin from this day forth.

Luthien echoed this, and once more professed her love.

Then Luthien knelt before Beren with her head bowed.

Beren gave a final profession of love, and took the crown of Silmarils from the table it had been resting on and placed it upon her head.

Then Beren knelt to Luthien, his head nearly touching the ground.

Luthien stood up, and a spray of daffodils erupted from the ground and wove themselves into Beren's hair, making a near-crown of his own.

Beren stood up, and the pair looked out over the assembly. "I Luthien do swear from this day forward to take Beren as my husband. "I Beren do swear from this day forward to take Luthien as my wife."

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Thingol's smile was stiff and poite, but he did not let it slip. Beren had fulfilled his impossible demand, and Luthien had shown very well she would not be parted from him.

* * *

Beren loved Luthien. He loves her more than the moon and stars, more than his kin, more than life itself. Nothing could ever diminish that love.

But he feared for her.

Beren had known Luthien was powerful when he first saw her, dancing in a glade with no fear of any evil being during the middle of a war. He had tried to describe her then, and the task had been so much beyond him that he been unable to speak at all for a year. He never had been able to, but simply being close to her had been enough to restore him.

Luthien had saved him three times before they even reached Angband: in the forest from his muteness, in Menegroth from her father's wrath, and in Tol-in-Gaurhoth from Sauron and his wolves.

Beren knew that Luthien was stronger than he could ever be, and would use that strength for him. So his feelings at her gaining the Silmarils should be solely joy. The crown made her stronger, better able to fight anything that might try and keep them apart.

Beren reassured himself that he was most likely just disconcerted because creating Forsant was so obviously inhuman. No Man could command trees to do as they wished. While what Luthien had done had been far quicker and easier due to the power of the Silmarils and her Maia blood, none of the elves seemed surprised at the end result.

The houses in Forsant were not like the simple buildings of Beren's youth, with walls of cobblestone of roofs of thatch supported by wooden beams. These houses were under the roots of trees that met overhead and left gaps for light, or else a grove that twined together and apart to make a dozen rooms, or a hundred vines that spread out in a platform twenty feet up. Beren would never have dreamed such places were possible, but Carandoron assured him that many of the Sindar outside Menegroth lived in places such as this - although they took decades to build what Luthien had grown in seconds, and in same cases even centuries.

So Beren was simply a Man who was disconcerted by not having solid stone walls and a roof over his head, although the trees would let nothing in that meant him harm and the leaves over head kept snow and rain from touching him even in the hardest storm.

Luthien seemed distant, but that was not surprising either as she was now a queen with a realm to rule rather than a princess who was forbidden from doing anything of importance.

Luthien felt different though.

Luthien left most of the day to day governing and resolving of disputes to Beren. The majority of the subjects of Forsant were human after all, the children and grandchildren of those captured by Morgoth, who had no homes outside to return to, did not even know the name of their ancestors. There were a few hundred elves, but most had gone home. Even Doriath had opened its borders to returning citizens, being able to do little else with its own princess vouching for their honesty. 

Beren could not remember exactly what Luthien's shadow had looked like before. He had been far too captivated by her beauty to look away from her face. Perhaps it had always been taller than her, no matter where the sun was in the sky. The three points of light at the top were certainly new from the Silmarils, but those were Holy, and not surprising.

Dior Aranel was born two years after their wedding.

"He's beautiful." Beren whispered.

"Indeed. It shall be a while before I go though that again though."

"Of course. You must be tired, I will hold him?"

"Yes."

Luthien did not sleep as Men did, or even as Elves did, with eyes open but unaware of her surroundings. Instead she became fully aware of her realm, every leaf and shoot in from the lowest valley to the highest peak. She did not forget her elven body at such times, but it was no more relevant than the trees around it, or the ferns that acted as screen at the door of the birthing room. When dreaming in Forsant, Luthien at times became swept up in the sheer life of it, such that it would be hours before she recalled that the one she loved might wish to speak to her. Then she would again recall the feel of legs and eyes and fingers and breasts, and mold back into her shape.

Luthien had not stayed completely awake or her whole pregnancy, of course. Such would be impossible, and let her kingdom fall to neglect besides. But though Luthien could survive without food or water if she stayed away a day or two longer than she meant to, the life she nurtured inside her had been far more fragile. Luthien had always kept her mind in her body with her senses merely stretching, seeing the plants and encouraging them when they looked wilted, but not feeling the sap running through them, the veins of the trees and the water through the earth as much part of her as her blood - perhaps moreso.

The flowers in her realm had opened to the sun and shivered in the night's chill and warmed again by the time Luthien returned to her body. Beren was still in the room, holding Dior in his arms with an expression of reverence.

"You both are well?"

"Yes, though i think Dior wishes to be held by you now. How was your rest?"

"Wonderful; I have been away for far too long." Luthien turned to look at the infant as cradled him close. "Not that I begrudge you anything, but I will not do the same for your siblings."

"Is that safe? You were very concerned that leaving your body while he grew."

"It would not be safe to fully forget where our child grows," Luthien agreed. "But it is more restful to me to be sometimes fully away and sometimes just have a tendril of thought away, than to always be here except for a few tendrils. I could grow a plant that would nourish my body even as my body nourishes a child.”

Beren was horrified. "But - what would such a child be? Would they be a Man - or an Elf at all?"

"Certainly! Maiar cannot be created; they were are here from the first moment of creation. This would be a child of your blood and mine. But just as you have mentioned children drinking goat's milk if their mother has none, so the forest's blood would sustain them."

"That does not sound nearly as simple a substitution."

"Perhaps not, but it is not urgent. Dior is still young after all, and elves raise one child at a time."

"Elves may, but Men do not. I love you and would spend all my days with you, but they are numbered for I am a mortal Man. If our second child is not born until Dior is grown, I may not live to see a third."

Luthien was troubled. "I did not think of that, for you are not yet old by the standards of your people. I love you and no other, and would not wish to raise a family with one I did not love. I will think on this."

A few weeks later Luthien mentioned her idea.

“Beren, I am sorry for not having considered before that you are mortal. I have been shortsighted, and thought only of my own needs rather than your own.”

“You have been thinking of the needs of all our people. I have many years yet, and I do not like to think on death either.”

“But if we do not think on it, one day old age will be on you by surprise, and there will be nothing we can do.”

“It will come either way, and I would rather cherish the days I have with you and our son than worry over their end.”

“Death doesn’t come to all, though. It does not for Maiar or for Elves, only for Men. I will not lose you!”

“I have no desire to ever be parted from you, but I cannot stop it.”

“You can’t, but I can. My mother held the world at bay for a thousand years when she first saw my father; I can hold off one death for at least that long.”

“How, my love? Your garden is magnificent, but I am not a vine or tree to be coaxed into a new shape.”

“Not by my power alone, but by the light of Valinor, the undying land.” Luthien raised one hand to her crown, and a shoot sprouted out from her palm. It slid roots underneath the center Silmaril, loosening until the gem dropped into her waiting hand. Delicate white flowers of niphredil sprouted in the empty space on the crown, but Luthien paid them little mind. “Will you wear this, my love? Wear it right against your heart, and with every step my land will share its life with you. You will live as Forsant stands.” 

Beren stared in awe at the Silmaril. Since putting the crown on, Luthien had removed it only for their wedding, and even then for only a short time. Beren had begun to fear that the Silmarils were corrupted in truth, such that she could not surrender them But here she was gifting him one. “Do you not need them? You said before that you needed all three to build Forsant.”

“To build it yes, and to destroy Morgoth’s servants. But it is easier to tend a garden than to dig one, and the fell creatures are gone or fled. There is no better use of a Silmaril than to save you.” Luthien frowned for a moment. “You do not want to die, do you? I have heard that some Men see it as a blessing, and I know my cousin Finrod thought it was, but I do not understand.”

“Never! It is a great sorrow to see all you love pass away and still be forced to soldier on, but I do not have to fear that with you. I will wear the jewel, and know you are with me always.”

Beren placed his hand over Luthien’s on the Silmaril. A chain of buttercups grew from it as he did so, such that by the time Beren had lifted the jewel to his neck it was the centerpiece of a strong necklace. Beren leaned in to kiss Luthien, the lowers around both of them blowing ever brighter with her joy.

* * *

Years passed in such a manner. Dior grew to adulthood, though did not age as Men, and in time Luthien and Beren had more children. Beren saw them all grow up, and the Silmaril gave him life far beyond the oldest of his people. 

But holding off death is a different matter than holding off age. Beren began to grow weaker, though Luthien never saw any less beauty in him. She aided him instead, with her comfort and her power.

When Beren’s arms could no longer lift Luthien into the air to twirl and dance together, she grew vines around them to hold her weight. When he began to stumble and sway, she gave him saplings in his legs to root into the earth and only come loose he wished. When his hands began to shake too much to write, she commanded tendrils of ivy to brace each finger. 

Beren thanked her each time, every exercise of Luthien’s power a way for him to live another day with the love of his life. All these things would fade if he left Forsant, but there was little reason to travel. Luthien must stay to preserve and guide her realm, and Beren would not desert her. With the Silmaril at his breast and the growing life all around, there was nowhere he’d rather be.


End file.
